“What’s the matter, are you sick?” asked Migwan in alarm.
“Yes’m, dat’s it, dat’s it,” chattered Hercules, finding his voice. “I’m awful sick. I had to come outside.”
“But I left you sitting in there a minute ago with your suit on,” said Migwan wonderingly, “and you didn’t come out after me. Did you go out of the front door?”
“Yes’m, dat’s it,” said Hercules hastily. “I come out de front doah an’ roun’ dat way.”
A sudden impulse made Migwan look down the drive, covered with a light fall of snow and gleaming white in the glare of the street light.
“But there aren’t any footprints in the snow,” she said in surprise. “Your footprints are coming from the barn.” A nameless uneasiness filled her. What was Hercules doing out here?
“Yes’m,” repeated Hercules vacuously, “I came from de barn.”
Migwan stared at him in surprise. Was he out of his mind?
“Hercules,” she began severely, but never finished the sentence, for [the old man swayed, clutched at the empty air, and fell heavily in the snow at her feet.]